Arranged (14 page)

“How can I have a time frame in mind when I only met Anne yesterday?”

“Most people have a time frame for when they want kids, regardless of whether they’re with someone.”

“Well, I don’t, okay?”

Dr. Szwick turns to me. “Is that okay with you, Anne?”

“Yeah, I’m in no hurry.”

“Really? You’re thirty-three years old.”

“I know how old I am. I have plenty of time. Certainly enough time to get to know Jack first.”

I squeeze Jack’s hand to show him I’m on his side. He squeezes back.

“At least you seem to agree. That’s a good start.” He looks back and forth between us. “I sense you’re both feeling hostile toward me right now, correct?”

“What gives you that impression?” Jack asks in a biting tone.

Dr. Szwick clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “We’ve spoken about this before, Jack. I’m here to push you off your center, to make sure you’re telling me what you’re really feeling and not hiding behind answers that would satisfy your drinking buddies.”

Jack drops my hand. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Are you sure you do? Or are we wasting our time here? Are you wasting Anne’s time?”

“Of course not.”

“I hope not. Now, I’m taking a wild guess, but judging from your previous answers, you haven’t discussed finances either, am I right?”

“No,” I say.

“May I ask what you
have
been talking about since yesterday?”

“We’ve been talking about lots of things. Our lives, our past relationships. First-date stuff.”

“What do you mean by ‘first-date stuff’?”

Kissing. Jack convincing me to marry him. That kind of first-date stuff.

“Oh, I don’t know, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“She means we’ve been covering the basics, like you do whenever you meet a stranger,” Jacks says.

Dr. Szwick considers us. “Tell me, did you kiss last night?”

Jack hesitates. “Yes.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Szwick puts his pen down. “I have to say, I’m a bit concerned about you two. You’re a great match—a perfect match, almost—but you don’t seem to be taking this very seriously, either of you. You’re getting married in a few hours.
Married.
You’re about to create a life together. And instead of talking about the real issues, instead of taking this time to make sure you really want the same things, you’re acting as if you’re dating, trying to see if you can fall in love. This is a recipe for failure. As I’ve told you, the process is not about falling in love. It’s about building a future based on friendship, and that’s created through shared experiences, shared goals, and a foundation of compatibility.

“I don’t want to—as my kids would say—freak you out. You do seem to have created some kind of bond, and that’s encouraging. You’ll need to bond in order to face this unique experience together. But if you keep resenting my input and ignoring my advice, this is not going to end well.”

He looks at us intently, and we stare back silently. I feel like I did in high school when someone did something bad in class and the teacher punished everyone because no one would admit who did it.

Dr. Szwick walks to the desk in the corner and takes a piece of paper from a folder sitting on top of it. He hands it to me. “Before you get married today, I want you to go through these questions together. As you do, I want you to have a serious talk about why you’re doing this and what you expect. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say in a small voice.

“Jack?”

He takes a deep breath and expels it. “Yeah, okay.”

“Do you think we should call this off?” I ask.

“Only you can answer that question, Anne. Go talk things over with Jack. Use the techniques we’ve been using in our sessions. You can figure this out.”

We leave the room and walk down the stairs to the beach, both of us deep in thought. Jack stares at the waves for a minute, then begins walking purposefully away from the resort. I catch up with him at the water’s edge. The wind has picked up, swirling my hair around me.

“Jack . . . will you wait for me? Jack?”

He stops, balling his hands into fists. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

I walk around to look him in the face. The waves slap at my ankles, drowning my flip-flops. “Are you all right?”

“I think I hate that guy.”

“I feel like that sometimes too.”

He looks down at me. His eyes are dark and troubled. “At least we’re on the same page.”

“Are we?”

Instead of answering me, he puts his hands on my shoulders and pulls me to him. I tilt my head up, and our mouths meet. Like last night, there’s a hard heat between us as we kiss and kiss. He moves his hands down my back and rests them on my hips. I step closer, wanting his body against mine, wanting no space between us.

A large wave crashes against us, wetting our legs to the knees. Jack moves his hands back up to my shoulders.

“Is this the page we’re on?” I ask, fighting for breath.

“Looks like it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, do you think?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t see how it can be a bad thing.”

Another wave hits us and I pull away. “Shouldn’t we do the exercise Dr. Szwick suggested?”

“Probably.”

I walk away from the water and sit down on the beach, letting my heels dig into the sand. I pat the space next to me. “Have a seat.” He plops down, and I pull the list out of my pocket. “Looks like he already asked us most of these questions, but here’s one we didn’t answer. How are you with money?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I kind of live by the seat of my pants, financially speaking.”

“You never said how you could afford to come here.”

He bites his lip. “My aunt died, and I got a small inheritance. That covered it, but things are going to be tight when I get back. I don’t get my next advance until I turn in the manuscript I’m working on.”

“How about doing more freelance work?”

He pulls a face.

Ah, shit. I must sound like his mom. Only he doesn’t have a mom anymore. Double shit.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to nag you.”

“It’s okay. I do some freelance, but it takes a lot of time drumming up business, which doesn’t leave much time for actually writing. I sound like a big fucking baby, right?”

“Maybe a little, but I know what you mean.”

He runs his hands through his hair. “I can try harder at that, though. And we’ll save some money living together.”

“But we should probably keep my apartment. Moving is expensive.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just an apartment, right?”

He kisses me hard on the mouth. “That’s great, Anne. Okay, what’s the next question?”

The next question makes me blush.

“Well?” Jack says. He tucks his chin on my shoulder so he can see for himself. “ ‘What role do you believe sex should play in your marriage?’ Huh. That’s an easy one.”

I lean away from him. “Oh?”

“Of course. I’m pro-sex. Aren’t you?”

“Well, I . . . I mean, yes, of course, but . . .” I catch a glint of amusement dancing across his face. “Dammit, Jack, that’s not funny.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Um, well, I guess we probably should.” I look down at my toes, thinking about Margaret’s comment in the buffet line about Jack and me being ahead of schedule, sexually speaking. Did she have access to some pamphlet I didn’t get?

“I think . . .” Jack clears his throat. “It will happen when it should. You know, naturally.”

“Yes. That sounds right.”

A couple on a Jet Ski buzzes through the waves and lands on the beach. The man driving it cuts out the deafening engine. His girl is clinging to his waist, resting her head on his back. He turns and says something to her, the words swallowed by the waves. She smiles and ruffles his hair.

“Was that it?” Jack asks.

“Mmm?”

“The questions? Are there any more?”

“Oh, right.” I look down the list. There’s only one left, and it’s a biggie. “‘Why are you really here?’”

“Good fucking question,” says Jack. “You know the answer?”

“Nope . . . only . . .”

“Only what, Anne?”

I turn to face him. “The only answer I have, the only thing that’s keeping me sane, is that I
am
here. I took this huge chance, I made this huge decision, and it must’ve been for a reason, right?”

“Everything happens for a reason? Do you believe that?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You really are a strange girl, aren’t you?”

“I warned you before.”

“That you did.”

Jack picks up a flat shell and skips it into the water. It disappears in the white foam. Another shell lost to the sea.

“What about you, Jack? You got any answers?”

“Not really. I’ve spent hours turning this over in my mind, and it doesn’t make any sense, but I still seem to want to do it.”

“Maybe you want to do it
because
it doesn’t make any sense?”

“Would that make me crazy?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Dr. Szwick.”

“Pass.”

I smile. “He really gets under your skin, doesn’t he?”

He throws another shell toward the water. “I don’t usually spend much time thinking about this kind of stuff. And it bugs me how he won’t accept anything I tell him.”

“I think he does that to push us off our guard, to make sure we answer him honestly.”

“Maybe, but all it does is piss me off.”

“That was clear.”

“Oh, it was, was it?” he says playfully, pulling me into his lap.

“Crystal.”

Jack kisses the space between my neck and my shoulder. I hold his head in my hands and look into his eyes. They’re the color of beach glass—a green bottle that’s been smoothed by the ocean.

“Jack, are you sure this is a good idea? Should we really be doing this?”

Jack holds my gaze. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“We kill each other in a bitter
War of the Roses
dispute over the furniture we picked out together?”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe. So what? Lots of people have failed marriages. But at least we’ll have tried.”

“Let the process work? Take it one day at a time?” I say in my best Ms. Cooper voice.

“Right. Or why don’t we try to do what Dr. Szwick said?”

“What’s that?”

“Be friends and see how that goes.”

“You want to do something Dr. Szwick said?”

“He has a good idea every once in a while. What do you say?”

Friends. I like the sound of that. Only what about the kissing? What about the fact that I’m sitting in his lap right now, our faces inches apart, and I’m having trouble thinking about anything but kissing him?

“Friends, huh?” I say.

“Maybe more than friends . . .” he replies, kissing me gently.

Chapter 13

To Have and to Hold

J
ack knocks on my door at noon.

“Anne, it’s me. Are you ready?”

I check myself one last time in the mirror. I’m wearing the cream-colored dress, and I’ve pulled my hair back from my face, leaving the rest loose and wavy. My eyes look wide and scared.

Here I come, ready or not.

I open the door. “Ready.”

He looks me up and down, his hands behind his back. “You look great.”

He’s wearing a tan suit and a light green shirt. His hair is still slightly wet from his shower, and it curls tightly on his head. He’s even shaved. He looks younger without the beard, more vulnerable.

“You look nice too.”

“Thanks.” He brings his hand from behind his back. He’s holding a small bouquet of colorful flowers. “I thought you might like to carry these . . . unless you already have some?”

I’d decided not to have a bouquet, not to make too big a deal out of this. Out of today. That’s fantasyland, but I can pretend with the best of them.

I bring the bouquet up to my nose. It smells like summer. “Thank you, Jack, they’re beautiful.”

“Shall we go?”

With my heart in my throat, I walk with Jack, hand in hand, to the lobby. We ride the elevator to the fourth floor and follow the signs to the room where the weddings are taking place. Ms. Cooper is standing at the entrance with her usual clipboard in hand. She checks off our names. “You can go right in.”

Jack thanks her, but I can’t speak. Is this really about to happen?

Jack squeezes my hand tightly as we enter the room. There’s a wall of windows at the far end, looking out over the cerulean ocean. The view is spectacular, beautiful, peaceful. A classical processional plays quietly—Pachelbel, I think.

We walk slowly down the aisle toward a small altar. A dark-skinned man in his mid-forties stands in front of it, holding a small black book. He introduces himself as Pastor Rodriguez and asks if we’re ready to begin. When we nod, he begins reading the simple ceremony. I feel an odd urge to laugh, which I try hard to contain.

Jack notices me struggling. “What is it?” he whispers.

“Nothing.”

Pastor Rodriguez keeps going, repeating the ageless words. I’m barely listening. Then he says something that gets my attention.

“Do you, John Graham Harmer, take this woman, Anne Shirley Blythe, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Jack says firmly.

“And do you, Anne Shirley Blythe, take this man, John Graham Harmer, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”

I look at Jack. He takes my hands in his and looks into my eyes. I feel weak in the knees. But I take a deep breath and say, “I do.”

“Do you have the rings?”

Jack reaches into his suit jacket. He takes out a small ring box that contains two simple silver rings and hands one to me. I hold it tightly in my right hand.

“Now repeat after me. ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’ ”

“With this ring, I thee wed.” Jack slips the ring onto my finger. It slides into place next to the one he gave me yesterday.

“Now you, Anne.”

“With this ring, I thee wed,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, pushing Jack’s ring onto his finger.

The pastor smiles. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Jack puts two fingers beneath my chin and tilts my head. He kisses me like he did the first time yesterday, gently, but longer. His lips are dry and warm, and that same tingling feeling starts to flow through me.

We break apart.

“Congratulations,” says Pastor Rodriguez.

“Thank you,” we say together.

J
ack and I stroll in a fog to one of the smaller restaurants in the resort. We take a seat among several other dressed-up couples with dazed looks.

My ring finger feels strange under the weight of the two silver bands. I keep twisting them around, trying to make them sit comfortably. We eat our lunch slowly and make small talk about the people we see out the window, trying to distract ourselves from the hugeness of the occasion. We just about manage it.

“Hey, look, there’s another one,” I say, pointing to a large woman wearing a T-shirt printed with a fake slim body in a bikini. “They must sell them in the gift shop.”

“Lady, that’s so
not
making you look thin.”

I push the leaves of my salad around on my plate. “Jack?”

“
¿Sí?
”

“Did we just get married?”

“I think so.”

“So this isn’t some insane dream I’m having?”

He frowns. “It isn’t that bad, is it?”

“I didn’t say bad, I said insane.”

“My insanity threshold shifted the minute I walked into Blythe and Company’s office.”

“Good point.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess . . . this wasn’t what I thought my wedding day was going to be like.”

“Not the groom you imagined?”

“No, no. I just always thought I’d be with my friends and family.”

“And wearing a white dress?”

I smile. “Yeah, maybe. Did you ever think about that? What your wedding would be like?”

“You do remember I’m a man, right?”

“Yes, yes.”

He takes a swig from his beer. “Well, maybe. That my parents would be there. I guess I always thought that.”

“How did . . . Was it a long time ago?”

“Yeah. When I was twenty-three. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Jack puts a piece of his burrito in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we try
not
freaking out and see how that goes?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve both had our moments—you last night on the beach, me this morning on the beach—so I was thinking, it’s not really helpful to overanalyze this, right? The deed is done. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

“And you can do that? You can just . . . not think about it?”

“I’m not sure. But aren’t you sick of thinking about this sort of stuff all the time? Isn’t that part of the reason you did this?”

“Yes, it was part of the reason.”

“So are you with me?”

“Just shut off my brain and have fun, huh?”

“You think you can do it?”

“I can try.”

He grins. “That’s my girl. Hey, there’s another one!”

I turn and watch a three-hundred-pound woman walk by inside the T-shirt body of a woman less than half her size.

“When do I move in?” Jack says.

My head snaps around. “What?”

“Should I move my stuff into your room now or after dinner?”

“Are you being serious?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

“There’re probably a hundred reasons, but sure, why don’t you move right on in and we can have—wait—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

Jack starts laughing. “I didn’t mean to pull it that hard.”

My face turns red. “I’m very gullible.”

“I noticed.”

“Please don’t take advantage of me.”

“Not without getting you liquored up first.”

“Nice thing to say about your wife.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Wow. That’s weird.”

“I
know.
”

“Okay. Moving on. I saw catamarans down by the beach. Do you want to go sailing?”

“I don’t know how to sail.”

“That’s okay, I do.”

I hesitate. “I’m kind of afraid of open water.”

“That’s cute.”

“No, it’s pathetic.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise. And if you don’t like it, we’ll come back.”

“Okay, then.”

Jack rubs his hands together. “Great! And then afterward, I’ll move my stuff in.”

“Jack . . . Shit! I almost fell for that again.”

“God, you
are
gullible.”

“I told you not to take advantage of me.”

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re such a liar.”

W
hen I get to the beach, Jack is already there, wearing the same red bathing shorts he had on this morning and a fresh layer of zinc on his nose. He’s standing near a black and yellow catamaran, talking to one of the resort staff. The staffer—a young guy in a pair of blue swimming trunks—says something that makes Jack throw back his head and laugh. He looks so relaxed and happy, it’s infectious.

I walk up to them.

“Miguel, this is my . . . wife, Anne.” Jack smiles in a shy way as he says the word “wife.” I smile back, feeling happy.

We exchange nice-to-meet-yous, and Miguel gives Jack a few final instructions. We buckle the plastic straps of our orange life jackets, and Jack shakes Miguel’s hand and helps me into the boat. Jack takes the tiller, and Miguel pushes us off into the ocean. There’s a good wind blowing, and the boat skims quickly over the water toward Isla Mujeres, an island a few miles off the coast.

I grip the edge of the rubber hull with my hands, making sure my feet are tightly secured under the black canvas straps. Jack controls the large white sail with a thick rope that he lets in and out with his right hand.

The pontoons hit a wave. The boat rises and falls with a loud
thawp.
I lace my hands through the cords holding the hull to the frame. “Um, Jack. We’re going pretty fast.”

“You want me to slow down?”

I nod, and he turns the boat away from the wind. We slow to half speed.

“How’s that?”

“Better, thanks.”

I start to relax and look around me. The bay is dotted with other boats and people on Jet Skis. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and the water is very blue, chopped by small waves with the first signs of whitecaps. I glance back at Jack. He’s leaning back so far, his head touches the water.

“What are you doing?”

He brings his head up and shakes the water out of his hair. “Taking a dip.”

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to where we’re going?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control. Why don’t you stretch out on the deck?”

“Will you keep the boat going slowly?”

“Of course.”

I unhook my feet and scamper forward, stretching out so I’m looking back at Jack. I place my life jacket under my head and close my eyes, letting the rocking boat soothe me. I fall into a half-drowsy state while the sun licks my skin.

“Having fun?” Jack asks.

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Yeah, I am.”

“Too bad we didn’t bring any beer.”

“
Dos cervezas por Señor Harmer, por favor.
”

“Impressive.”

“
Gracias.
Though that’s about all the Spanish I know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I look over Jack’s shoulder. Our hotel looks small and far away.

“Jack, I think we should turn around. We’re really far from the beach.”

“We’re not that far.”

“Doesn’t it take a long time to go back across the wind?”

He cocks his head to the side. “I thought you didn’t sail.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about sailing.”

“Pretty
and
smart. Well done, Blythe and Company. Okay, get ready, I’m going to turn around.”

“Wait, let me get back in.” I take a seat next to Jack and hook my feet under the straps.

“I’ll need to speed up to make the turn. Don’t freak out.”

Jack turns the catamaran so the wind is behind us and lets out the sail. We pick up speed, and Jack pulls the tiller toward him in a jerky movement. “Oh, shit!”

The left pontoon dips beneath a wave and stays there. A moment later, the right pontoon does the same thing. My heart starts to pound as the back of the craft leaves the water, tipping up toward the sky. Something squeaks and whistles toward me and—
smack!
The boom clocks me in the side of the head and sends me careening into the water.

“Motherfucker,” I hear Jack saying as I break the surface, coughing and disoriented.

My ears are ringing with the blow from the aluminum boom. A white wave breaks over my head, half drowning me. I kick my legs hard, gasping for breath, cursing myself for taking off my life jacket. I bob once, twice, and Jack’s arm circles my waist, pulling me out of the water and against his wet skin.